


Crying Wolf

by tazia101



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Panic Attacks, Patton Helps, Self-Harm, Sympathetic Deceit Sanders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:40:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22087291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tazia101/pseuds/tazia101
Summary: Sometimes, Deceit tells the truth. Sometimes, he's too tired to lie. It doesn't matter; the other Sides don't believe him anyways.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 177





	Crying Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on @knight-in-the-stars, my inactive tumblr blog, in 2018. 
> 
> I know the tags are probably enough warning, but let me say it again: this fic contains descriptions of the lethargy of depression, relatively detailed self-harm, touch starvation, thought spirals, isolation, a lot of lying, panic attacks, and self-hatred. Deceit is... not doing so good in this fic. If any of that is likely to be triggering, please be nice to yourself and read something else!!

Sometimes, Deceit liked to tell the truth.

He slipped them in between the lies, little tests, just to see if the others could keep up with him. Sometimes they caught them, dismissing them as accidents, and other times they didn’t.

Other times, it wasn’t worth it. Some days the world was heavy on his shoulders as soon as he opened his eyes, and the creation of the lies was a chore that dragged him downwards, sapping his energy, drowning him slowly.

Most times, on those days, he just avoided the others. Stayed in his room, ignoring the growl of his stomach, curling into the covers until the minutes blurred into hours and he could drift away in a waking sleep, pressing down the bubbles of panic and hunger that bloomed in his ribs, making his breath catch for a moment before he dragged himself back into the calm sea of laziness.

He would emerge late at night, making sure no one had come out for a late snack, and he would gather the food to bring back to his room, his stomach cramped and unwilling to take the food once he was able to offer it.

He would fall asleep in pain and sometimes the next morning was better. Sometimes it wasn’t.

Today, Deceit opened his eyes, and he immediately knew. There was no point to today. His wrists felt chained, his body heavy, his heart already racing with the effort of waking. He winced, curling further into himself. He didn’t want this, didn’t want to lose another day. He had lost too much of the last week to the pain-canceling oblivion, lost too much of the last… month? He had had good days, he knew that, but he couldn’t quite remember them now. There was only the feelings racing through his veins, too many to name, to strong to pin down, too overwhelming to remember how to breathe.

 _I can’t do this_ , he thought, and he couldn’t even tell if it was a lie, couldn’t tell what the alternative could be. What would it mean to drag himself through this? What could it possibly be for?

He twisted, pushing a hand out from under the blankets. He couldn’t breathe. He was trapped.

Finally Deceit dragged himself out of the bed and curled on the floor, holding the back of his head, forehead pressed against his knees, body shaking with the breaths he gasped in.

 _I need food,_ he told himself. And it was the truth. He pushed himself to his feet, curling his hands into fists, the nails on his left hand cutting into his palm, not enough to draw blood but enough to hurt, the pain calling him back to the moment, pushing the overwhelming emotions back and giving him space to breathe.

It wouldn’t last and it wasn’t enough, but it gave him the clarity he needed to snap his fingers, summoning his usual clothes. He placed the hat on his head, tipping the brim down lower than usual. He knew that the others weren’t familiar enough with his expressions to read them, but you didn’t need to be so observant to see the dark bruises starting to gather under his right eye, speaking to his inability to stay asleep for more than a few hours at a time, always drifting back into damned consciousness.

With that, he sank out of his room, not letting himself hesitate, not letting himself second-guess. He focused on the lasting sting on his palm, and not the unnamed emotions crawling up his throat.

Morality was in the kitchen, humming a little tune, his elbows resting on the counter as the kettle started to boil. Deceit flinched back, then steeled himself and walked forwards.

“Oh!” Morality was predictably startled, catching sight of Deceit out of the corner of his eye. “Heavens! Deceit, you scared me.”

“Not at all my intent,” Deceit said, opening up the fridge to see his options. There wasn’t much, unfortunately. He had been hoping for some cold pizza, or leftover pasta. Everything here looked like it needed assembling, and while Deceit considered himself a passable chef, the idea of making something right now made his skin crawl.

He closed the door and turned to the cupboards, stretching upwards to riffle through the snack options.

“Sorry there’s no leftovers.” Morality reached past him to snag a teabag, heedless of his arm brushing against Deceit’s as he drew back, not knowing that the touch sent tingles down the entire side of his body. Deceit tried not to flinch away, but his mind caught on the motion and his reaction to it.

 _Can’t even handle a single touch_ , it whispered to him. _Can’t be around people for a single second. Pathetic._ Deceit pushed it away, and grabbed the peanut butter. Perfect. He just needed a spoon.

“I usually try and make sure the fridge is well-stocked, but it’s been so busy lately, you know,” Morality continued to ramble, reaching up for the honey as the teabag slowly turned the hot water to amber. He turned and saw Deceit rooting in the cutlery for a long-handled spoon. No need to get his hands dirty, after all. “Deceit? Are you taking the peanut butter?”

“No,” Deceit grumbled, finally finding a parfait spoon and tucking it into his pocket.

“Why?” Morality tilted his head to one side.

“I like it,” Deceit said in a monotone. He hated peanut butter, hated how it stuck in his mouth and how he wouldn’t be able to stop tasting it for hours and hours.

“No, you don’t.” Morality crossed his arms over his chest, and eyed Deceit carefully. “Are you okay?”

Deceit tried. He really tried. He tried to find the energy to tell a lie, to smile.

“No,” he said, hugging the peanut butter jar closer to himself, frowning petulantly.

“Really?”

“I don’t want to be awake and I don’t want to be alive. I don’t want to eat this peanut butter and I wish I didn’t have to.” Deceit snapped his mouth closed, shocked at his own words. Morality looked just as surprised. “I… I’m sorry,” Deceit managed.

“You never are,” Morality sighed. “Go on, Deceit. Go eat your peanut butter, I won’t judge you.”

 _He didn’t believe me,_ Deceit realized. _He didn’t believe a single word._

Now he could name the emotions crawling in. Embarrassment, hot across his cheeks. Anger, heavy in his fists. Self-hatred, a ball of shame in his stomach, crawling up his throat like he was about to be sick, and the panic creeping up his spine, knowing that he was about to officially lose it, and absolutely not wanting to do that in front of Patto- _Morality._

Left with nothing else to do, he spun on his heel and bolted out of the kitchen, making it to the hallway before the tears pushed their way out, hot on his cheeks, hooking claws into his lungs and playing with his breathing, snatching the breath away and choking him.

He finally got to his room and dropped the damn peanut butter, stumbling back into his bed. _Never should have left,_ he thought as he returned under the blankets. _Never should have told the truth,_ and the shame was crawling up his throat again, making him curl tighter into himself. _Pathetic,_ the voice in his head said again, and then it didn’t stop saying it. _Pathetic._ The tears on his cheeks. _Pathetic._ The hitch in his breath, _pathetic_ , he couldn’t even breathe right, _pathetic_ , couldn’t do anything right, and he was losing everything he had put together, and this was alright, this was fine, this was too much, he couldn’t think, couldn’t-

Deceit bit his gloves off and clamped his left hand over his wrist, making himself look down to see the distorted fingers, the scales over the skin and the green tinge to his nails, curved, sharp, always long no matter how many times he cut them, poking through his gloves if he wasn’t careful, _inhuman, wrong._

He clenched his hand and his claws were pressing into his wrist, those little pinpricks of pain, but it wasn’t anything near enough, and he still couldn’t breathe, and all the feelings in his body were pulling in different directions, tearing him apart, he wanted to be torn apart, he wanted these feelings to get out, he wanted to be able to think, able to breathe.

He raked his claws up his arm, raising red lines, welts slowly forming, and oh, there, he was ruining the human half of him, so that all of him would match, all of him wrong and badly put together and _pathetic_

He tore off the cape, rolled up the sleeve on his human arm, revealing all that milky perfect pale skin, only disturbed by those light freckles that all of them shared, and now those red lines standing out on the back of his wrist.

Deceit placed his claws, so gently, on his wrist. A centimetre away from where his pulse beat a frantic pace, those dangerous curves, threatening so lightly, all in his control, and he whipped them across, closing his eyes to feel the pain.

Slowly, he opened his eyes, and saw blood beading along the cuts he had made. Shallow. Safe. Something from the inside that he had brought outside.

 _Wrong._ He looked at the wounds and curled into himself. The welts up his arm, the cuts across, and none of it better, none of it doing anything, none of it making anything better. There was nothing he could do, he wanted to be torn apart, he wanted to sleep, wanted something he couldn’t express, wanted to pin down the feelings writhing just under his skin, unable, never able.

“Deceit?”

There was someone in his room, no, that couldn’t be- no-

Panic bloomed in his chest and he fumbled for the blankets, the first thought in his head to hide. A hand touched his, and he flinched backwards, looking up through the haze of tears.

Blue. Grey. _Patton_. Deceit hadn’t noticed him rise up in his room.

“Dee, I’m so sorry.” Deceit couldn’t see well, not right now, but Patton’s voice was choked, and as Deceit blinked away the tears from his vision, he could see that the other Side was crying. _Why?_ The sight was enough to stall him, and he almost reached out to check if the tears were real.

“I’m fine,” Deceit said, the only thing he could think of, and Patton put a hand over his mouth, the tears flowing faster now.

“You-” he managed, and then pushed forwards, wrapping his arms around Deceit.

It wasn’t a good angle. Patton’s one arm was almost wrapped around his neck, and both of Deceit’s arms were being pinned against his sides. Patton’s chin was digging into the brim of Deceit’s hat, pressing it down against his ear, and Patton’s legs were twisted awkwardly on the edge of the bed, putting most of his weight on Deceit’s shoulders as he overbalanced.

“You’re not okay,” Patton whispered. “You were telling the truth in the kitchen, weren’t you? And I didn’t believe you. I’m so sorry.”

“I wasn’t,” Deceit protested, making a half-hearted effort to get free. Patton let him go and rested his hands on the mattress, eyes wide and teary.

“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” he confessed, and then put both hands up to his mouth, trying to hide the sobs that were shaking his shoulders.

Deceit was lost, not knowing what to do with this emotional breakdown pushing itself at him. He knew what he should do, but everything in him was screaming not to do it.

Finally, he closed his eyes and opened his arms, silencing the rest of him.

Patton choked on yet another sob and then flung himself forwards, wrapping both arms around Deceit’s chest. It was far too much, too many points of contact, too much to keep track of, but Deceit pushed away the panic and wrapped his arms back around Patton, tucking his head under his chin and holding him even closer, shifting from side to side in a slow calming pattern.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, just a small lie, a white lie. “You’re okay.” Patton sniffed, curling his fingers into the fabric of Deceit’s shirt. “I’m okay,” Deceit added, resting his cheek against Patton’s hair, rubbing one hand in a circle on Patton’s back.

“But you’re- you’re _not_ ,” Patton managed, and then started crying harder. Damn.

“I am,” Deceit said. “I’m perfectly fine. I’m okay. Please stop crying now.”

“You hurt your- I saw the-“

“That was nothing,” Deceit dismissed, glancing down to make sure his sleeve had fallen to cover the scratches. “Patton, I’m fine. Really.” 

It was a few more minutes before Patton finally started to calm down, and eventually drew away, his eyes red and puffy from crying. He looked exhausted from the outburst, keeping his gaze down.

Deceit fixed his cape around himself, then hid his hands behind him, glancing around for his gloves. After several panicked glances, he remembered that he was in the mindscape, and could just conjure new ones, which he did.

“Are you alright?” he asked Patton.

“Me? I’m fine! You’re the one who- I’m so sorry I didn’t listen. I didn’t understand what you were telling me. It’s all my fault.” Patton was starting to get teary again.

“It’s not your fault,” Deceit said exasperatedly, and Patton gasped. “No, I-“ Deceit sighed. “I meant that. It, it is your fault. I meant what I said first.” Patton had stopped looking distressed and started looking confused. Deceit didn’t blame him. Even he didn’t know what he was saying anymore.

“I can’t understand you when you’re switching back and forth,” Patton said.

“I know,” Deceit snapped. “But using one is the same as using the other, isn’t it? It means that you…” he trailed off. _It means that you understand_. Wasn’t that what he wanted? Why did the idea seem so terrifying? _I can’t ask him for help. He can’t know what I am. He’ll run. Or worse, he’ll stay. I’ll trick him into staying. I can’t do that._

“Okay.” Patton had re-centered himself and had his thinking face on. “Will you let me take care of you? Just for tonight?” Deceit hesitated. _I want to be torn apart,_ his mind whispered ceaselessly. Then he nodded, and Patton’s jaw set. “Good. Okay.”

Patton got up, and turned back to face Deceit on the bed.

“First things first, we’re going to clean those cuts.” Deceit opened his mouth, and Patton spoke over him. “No if, ands, or buts. You can do it yourself, if you like, as long as you use polysporin afterwards. I would prefer to do it, just to be sure, but I understand if you’re not comfortable with that.”

Deceit closed his eyes and held out his hand. He felt, through the fabric, Patton taking the hand and pulling him up to his feet with surprising ease. He opened his eyes, and followed Patton over to the bathroom.

This was… surprisingly pleasant. He needed to do nothing, say nothing, only follow.

Patton closed the seat on the toilet, and gestured for Deceit to sit down, which he did. Quiet, he watched Patton run water over a clump of Kleenex, then turn to push up Deceit’s sleeve.

He closed his eyes at the first sight of his blood, and Patton gently traced a finger against his eyelid, silent permission for him to keep his eyes closed.

Patton was gentle, incredibly so, the tissues soft against his skin as they swept over the cuts again and again, first with water, then slippery cold soap, and then water again, finally being patted dry. Finally, Patton was spreading cream over them, tugging his sleeve back down, and Deceit opened his eyes.

“Good.” Patton was smiling. It was an uncertain thing, which didn’t quite reach his eyes, but he was still smiling, and Deceit tried to echo the expression. “Why don’t we go get some food now? You can either cut up some broccoli or sit at the table while I cook, I’m not picky.” Patton took Deceit’s hand again, leading him out into the room. “I know it’s probably still breakfast time, but I could really go for some pasta right now.”

Deceit held tight to his hand, and closed his eyes as they started to sink down out of his room. Unlike before, he wasn’t afraid. Because now, unlike before, he had someone beside him.


End file.
